


Arcadia

by afterglow (gubbie)



Category: Stand By Me (1986)
Genre: 1960s, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-24
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 21:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5801479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubbie/pseuds/afterglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the summer after senior year, and for June Miller, a life away from Castle Rock feels tantalizingly close. She wants dazzling city lights, not dusty roads that lead nowhere. But afternoons of forced knitting has her growing close with the Lachance boy, and suddenly leaving everything behind doesn't seem like such a good idea...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Arcadia

The summer of ’64.

Kennedy had been dead for seven months, and Castle Rock had lost its charm.

Simply put, nothing had appeal. The buildings were nothing more than faded shapes lining roads that went nowhere. 

The world around us drank all of my interest. I spent most of my time waiting for the start of something grand. I would look out my bedroom window like some fairy tale princess, staring at the distant horizon, searching beyond the silhouettes of the bowling alley, the movie theater, and the Blue Point Diner.

I practically had no idea what was on the other side, although I did have a vague image of dazzling city lights. But I supposed that—whatever it was—it was much better than my current situation. I spent days lying in my room, listening to the same old records, and attempting to write, but not being able to get the words out. _You need life experience_ , I reassured myself, and there was plenty of life outside of Castle Rock, just waiting to be experienced.

I was so disinterested in my surroundings that I had gained a kind of hypersensitivity. I could feel the grass growing and the world turning and the seconds ticking out every minute of every hour. I had wanted to leave, but every time I thought about passing the Castle Rock sign, never to see it again, I felt the tug of some invisible rope around my middle—a rope that my parents may or may not have been holding. 

Of course they wanted me to make a life of my own. But the catch was that they wanted me to do it in Castle Rock, with a profession that had nothing to do with writing.

I ached for them, noting their quiet despair. They let it show through small acts, such as: my mother offering to brush my hair, something she hadn’t done since I was nine; my father wanting to take me out to see the sunrise; and mother going through the family album, pointing out old pictures of me and telling the stories that went along with them. 

I was open to it all. I let her wield the hairbrush. I let him drive me to an open field at the crack of dawn to watch the sky open up. I laughed at a picture where I had gotten into mother’s makeup bag and experimented with red lipstick. 

And it had all made me feel warm and cold at the same time.


End file.
